The clash of the Monarchs was about to begin, From behind Arthur, his Marshals moved as one, but each carried a presence so distinct it felt like multiple catastrophes descending at once. Kamish was the first, his wings tore through the air with a thunderous beat, his colossal body plunging downward like a shadow meteor. The moment he crashed into the canyon floor, the impact alone shattered formations, sending entire ranks of high orcs and humanoid monsters flying as the ground buckled beneath him.
His roar echoed across the battlefield and then dragon fire followed.
It devoured and refused to die, taking out hundreds of the elite enemy monsters in one attack.
That moment was all the others needed. Bellion landed next, his blade carved a clean arc the instant his feet touched the ground, and the line it traced erased everything in its path. It was a swift, absolute cut that left dozens of bodies collapsing a heartbeat later.
Igris followed, he simply appeared within their ranks, his sword already moving. Each strike was merciless. Where Bellion was overwhelming, Igris was swift.
Then came chaos.
Beru tore into the army with a feral grin, his claws ripping through armor and flesh alike as he moved faster than most could track. Laughter, twisted, eager spilled from him as he plunged deeper into their ranks, leaving nothing but shredded remains in his wake.
H'El descended like a collapsing star, his arrival distorting the air itself. He unleashed heat vision blasts that tore through entire battalions at once, leaving behind nothing but scorched voids where soldiers had stood seconds before.
Ultra cut through the sky in a streak of violet, and his fists unleashed a crushing force that flattened everything in a wide radius.
Galatea followed close behind, she weaved through the battlefield, her strikes devastating and destructive, tearing through enemies with a smile on her face.
And not to mention,
Doom.
The ground quake with ever step he makes, every swing reducing anything in front of him to ruin. There was no finesse or restraint in his vocabulary, only destruction in its purest form.
Above it all,
Arthur's army fell from the sky.
Shadow giants descended one by one, their massive forms crashing into the battlefield in crouched positions that shattered the ground beneath them. Each impact sent shockwaves rippling outward, crushing entire clusters of enemies beneath their weight.
And then the last one came.
Larger and heavier.
His descent split the air itself as The Shadow General Surtr fell, his flaming blade already raised. When he struck the ground, the sword plunged deep into the earth, fire erupting outward in a violent surge that consumed everything in its path. The flames devouring entire sections of the battlefield as the giant straightened to his full height.
Behind them, The rest followed.
Endless ranks of demons and demon knights surged forward,. at their head stood The Shadow general Tusk, his staff already raised, the Orb of Avarice glowing with a sinister red glow.
Tusk brought the staff down.
A torrent of flames erupted outward, sweeping across the enemy ranks in a wave of destruction that turned the front lines into an inferno. The fire roared, feeding on everything it touched, consuming soldiers by the hundreds in seconds.
The war had begun.
The Monarch of the Iron Body stood unmoving, his gaze fixed on the chaos unfolding before him. His army was being torn apart, ripped, crushed.
And yet,
He did not step forward.
Instead, he raised his hand.
A pulse of energy spread outward from him, rippling through his forces. The effect was immediate. The hesitation vanished. Their bodies hardened, their strength surged, their movements growing sharper, faster. The army stabilized, pushing back against the Shadow Legion's onslaught.
Arthur watched it all from above.
Arms crossed, then his eyes glowed brighter.
[Monarch's Domain.]
He didn't say it, but the effect did.
A wave of shadow spread outward from him, washing over his entire army in an instant. The change was immediate. Their movements sharpened, their power surged.
Every fallen enemy fed his forces. Each death became another soldier rising from shadow, joining the endless shadow tide.
Below, the Monarch of the Iron Body's expression darkened.
"That cursed power!…" he muttered, irritation breaking through his forced composure.
His gaze swept across the battlefield.
"Where are the others…" he murmured under his breath, his tone tightening. "This is not what we agreed on…"
For a brief moment, doubt was written all across his expression.
Then it vanished.
"No matter."
The ground beneath him cracked as his form began to change, armor expanding, growing, reshaping itself as his body swelled into something far larger. The molten veins within his armor flared brighter, his presence intensifying and when it was over, he stood as a towering golem, his massive frame clad in dark gray armor, lime-green flames erupting from his head like a burning crown.
Arthur's gaze never wavered.
"It seems he hesitated for a moment," he murmured, almost thoughtfully. "He's expecting reinforcements.."
A weapon formed in his hand.
Thanatos Bronte.
The spear crackled with violet lightning, then he moved. The sky shattered behind him as he launched forward, his speed tearing through the air with explosive force. The distance between him and the Monarch of Iron body collapsed in an instant, the battlefield below blurring into insignificance.
His eyes burned. And the spear in his hand surged with power as he drove straight toward the Monarch of the Iron Body.
****
DIMENSIONAL CRACK -
There was no sky in the space between dimensions. It was a place that did not exist in the way worlds did, a quiet fracture between realities where the flow of time is nothing like the outside world, here only deep eternal darkness existed.
And within that endless, formless expanse,
Four figures stood, suspended in nothingness, before them there was a vast distortion in the air, like a window and through it they could see the Chaos World as it burned in war.
Armies of two Monarchs clashed.
But the one they couldn't keep their eyes away from was The Shadow Monarch.
One of the figures leaned forward slightly, his form cloaked in dark, robe. His gaze remained fixed on the battlefield, watching Arthur's forces tear through the armies of the Iron Body.
"…Just as expected," he said at last, "He has no intention of standing side by side with us."
There was no disappointment in his tone. Only confirmation.
"The state of his world made that clear from the beginning," he continued, his arms folding slowly across his chest. "It remains intact. Untouched. While we had to use ours…" His gaze flickered briefly.
Another figure stood beside him, taller, broader, clawed fingers flexing slightly as though resisting the urge to act.
"And his army," he added, his voice deeper, "It's impressive… but insufficient."
His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched another wave of shadow soldiers rise from the fallen.
"He cannot sustain a war against all of us alone."
A soft sound broke through, laughter, amused and almost careless.
The woman among them stepped forward, her eyes gleamed as she watched the destruction below, her lips curving into a smile.
"Poor thing," she said, "The Monarch of the Iron Body really believed we would come rushing to his aid."
She let out another soft laugh, shaking her head.
"It wasn't even a particularly convincing lie."
"It was necessary," The robbed figured beside her said after a moment. "He served his purpose."
A fourth figure stood slightly apart from the others.
Tall, slender and his features sharp, almost elegant, with an otherworldly chilly aura that set him apart even here. His eyes remained fixed on Arthur, watching him move through the battlefield.
"We needed confirmation," he said quietly, his voice smooth, "Memories are one thing."
His gaze darkened just slightly.
"Reality is another."
The woman glanced at him, her smile softening.
"And?" she asked lightly. "Do you believe it now?"
He didn't hesitate to answer.
"Yes."
"The memories left behind by our predecessors…" he continued, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as Arthur's spear tore through the battlefield below. "…they weren't exaggerations."
He paused, watching as entire sections of the Iron Body's army collapsed under the relentless advance of shadows.
"If anything," he added, quieter now, "they were incomplete."
Through the reality window in front of them, the Monarch of the Iron Body transformed, his massive form rising above the battlefield. For a second, it looked as though he might turn the tide.
The woman sighed softly, almost disappointed.
"Too bad," she murmured. "I almost liked him."
There was no real sorrow in her voice.
"He's already dead," she added, "He just doesn't know it yet."
The robbed figure beside her exhaled slowly, his eyes hardening.
"The Dragon Monarch was right," he said. "From the very beginning."
The others turned their attention to him.
"The shadow monarch was never going to stand with us," he continued. "Not after what he became, never forget what he used to be before becoming a Monarch."
His gaze drifted downward, watching Arthur.
"He's already chosen his side."
"Just like the Rulers," the broader figure added, "They've started moving again."
His lip curled slightly.
"Aiding his world."
The slender figure nodded once.
"They've chosen their battlefield."
The robbed figure's eyes narrowed, his voice lowering.
"Then we will give them one."
The void around them seemed to grow heavier, reacting to the shift in their intent.
"This time," he continued, each word measured, deliberate, "we end it, no more of this endless cycle."
His gaze sharpened, locking onto Arthur once more.
"We kill them," he said. "The Rulers."
Then, colder,
"And him."
The woman's smile returned,
"The former Ruler who lost himself," she added quietly.
Below, Arthur's spear burned through the battlefield, his presence cutting through everything in his path.
The slender figure watched him in silence for a moment longer.
Then he spoke, almost as if to himself. "And his world…will fall with him."
/-\
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